The Toa's Apprentice: Homecoming
by Inhumunculus
Summary: It's been three years, and Cheryl returns to Mata Nui, but it's not the paradise she once knew. The island is a wasteland. The Turaga have vanished, the Matoran are scattered and the Toa are nothing more than a memory. As she struggles to redeem her fall from grace, Cheryl is lured into a twisted tale prejudice, manipulation and a plot bigger than she could have ever imagined.
1. Prologue

Sometimes what you see; is what you tend to believe. It's there right in front of you; you can view it, hear it and touch it. There is no other way to validate its existence, because if something isn't there in front of you, how can you prove it exists at all?

Still, sometimes just because you can't see it, doesn't mean it's not there. Have you ever seen a Toa? Do you even know what it is? Have you seen them perform amazing feats using bursts of elemental power or their mask power? Or serve to protect smaller beings called Matoran, who live only to serve the will of the all-powerful deity Mata Nui? Or watch them defend the Matoran from a terrible villain called the Makuta?

I have.

I've watched a group of Toa, six in all, wield their elemental abilities in their efforts to stave off Makuta and a group of his minions: Rahi, or wild animals, twisted to serve his will, Matoran turned against his or her friends to carry out the Makuta's bidding . . . even brainwash children. The Toa did all in their power to conceal the children, three in all, from Makuta's clutches. They nearly succeeded, intent on bringing the children up in the light and away from the seductive lure of the darkness, except the children were hardheaded and intent on deciding their own path . . . even though they were incapable of doing so. They walked right into Makuta's hands and they paid the price. The Toa rescued them just in time, but at the expense of losing one to Makuta and severely injuring another. The Toa then realized it wasn't safe for the children to be here and sent them both back home. I don't know what became of the boy they sent away, but the girl's fate is as clear to me as the depths of a crystal. And if the Toa could see her now, they would have wished for her to come back.

My name is Cheryl Price. I'm fifteen years old, and I am a Toa's Apprentice.


	2. Chapter 1

**AN: I know this was a long time in coming and I probably lost more than half of my desired audience, but hopefully I'll gain a few of you back. This is only the first of many chapters and I guarantee this volume will be longer and more complex than the last one - as most of the second installments usually are. Nonetheless, I hope you all enjoy and don't forget to write, comment, fav and alert. Thank you!**

* * *

"Come now, Sharon. Let's try this again." My counselor held up the tiny bright red figurine in his hand, steadying it in front of my nose. He raised a brow even as my eyes narrowed, the ever-present pensive frown never leaving my face. "This is a toy. It is a plastic model children use to play with. Someone made it up; it isn't real."

With a small huff I turned my head away. I couldn't stand the sight of this figure, standing only a few inches tall as it perched in the counselor's palm. The toy's over enlarged mask was far too big for its body, nowhere near where the proportion it was supposed to be. The ball and socket joints at the shoulders and torso squeaked like rusty junctions of the Tin Man. The two-pronged black blocks that served as its hands hung suspended in front of it, nothing like the metallic palm and five long fingers it was supposed to have. I couldn't tolerate one more moment with this mockery of the Tahu it was modeled after.

"Maybe _that_ is a toy," I grumbled. I crossed my arms, curling further into myself. "The real thing is completely different." I shot him a glance. "And my name's Cheryl."

Heaving an impatient sigh, the counselor leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You can't keep sticking to your delusions. I applaud you for your imagination, but it is time to face reality." He leaned ever closer so much I thought he would fall right out of his chair. "That place _isn't_ real."

I didn't bother to reply. I pulled my legs into the large armchair with me, staring blankly out of the only window in the office. It was cloudy out, an endless stretch of gray spreading over the grounds. I think there was a chance of rain.

The counselor removed himself from his black leather swivel chair, placing the figurine of Tahu down, along with that pad of yellow lined paper he's always scribbling on. There are multiple black markings on it, but I'm unable to make out their meaning. He grasped a tether on the side of the window and pulled down. A cascade of wooden blinds blocked out the puffy water-laden masses and I followed to counselor with my eyes as he made his way back to his chair.

"I need you to concentrate, Sharon," he insisted. He placed the notepad in his lap and let the Tahu doll fall at his feet. It fell on its side, mask planted in the dark blue fibers of the carpet. "We're not going to get through this delusion if you keep becoming distracted. Now," – he crossed an ankle over his knee, setting the notepad at the junction of the two joints – "why do you insist on telling lies about where you've been in the few months you were kidnapped?"

My chest tightened. Lies? "I'm not."

"One doesn't simply vanish without logical cause." His cool gray eyes softened behind the frames of his rectangular glasses. The muscles in my shoulders tensed. "I understand if it is difficult for you. We don't know what truly happened to you when you disappeared, but we will once you have told us. If you're worried about your kidnappers coming back for you, they won't. Once you give the police legitimate information they will catch them and you won't have to worry about anything ever again."

I scoffed with a roll of my eyes. "There's nothing to give them because I wasn't taken by _human_ kidnappers."

The counselor nodded. "Right. They were these things." He gestured with the tip of his pen towards the figure on the floor. "They whisked you away to a make-believe land where you were endowed with the power to manipulate ice as you please."

"I was." My gaze was stern, catching the counselor off-guard. He raised a curious brow, interested. "I am able to fabricate ice with my bare hands, and not just a fragment – entire objects. I made knives once, even a sword, and I froze entire Rahi beasts solid."

The barest flickers of a smile tweaked the corners of the counselor's lips and he cradled his head between his thumb and first two fingers. "Is that so? Well then," – he reached over to his desk and placed a bottle of water in my hands – "prove it."

I blinked, staring at the bottle and tossed it over in my hands. The transparent water curled from end to end of the bottle, smacking against the cap and rolling against the sides, leaving little drops on the curved plastic. Twisting the cap off, I cupped my left hand and poured the smallest amount into the bevel of my palm. A little water spilled out and dripped onto the carpet. My focus was aimed at the tiny pool in my hand, recalling what it felt like to have frigid slush pump through me and flow out of my fingertips. It had been so easy, like breathing. I drew in a breath. The counselor leaned in, notepad in hand, pen primed to note even the slightest manifestation. I raised my other hand and touched my fingertips to the pool . . . only to have them sink into the water and meet the flesh of my palm.

My stomach dropped even as the counselor nodded. I sat back in the chair, staring at the water even as it dripped over the side of my hand and soaked into the carpet.

"It's time to forget, Sharon," the counselor said softly. He placed both notepad and pen on the desk, reclining comfortably in his chair. He folded his hands in front of him. "You're fifteen years old, and it's about time you begin acting as such. Get on with school, take up driving, get a job – leave these childish dreams behind."

"They're not dreams, they're memories," I countered. I pulled my legs into the seat and hugged them close, eyeing the counselor harshly. "Everything happened exactly as I have said it, but I can't expect you to understand that."

Her sighed deeply, massaging the spot between his eyes. I couldn't help but smirk. "Seems as if we're going in circles," he surmised. "Alright, if you wish to continue with your story then I suggest prolonging your stay until you are willing to give forfeit this delusion."

My expression soured, a harsh growl turning up the corner of my lip. "That's not fair!" He jumped.

"Life isn't always fair. I am simply doing what is right in my honest opinion."

"How is forgetting everything that has happened to me right?" I countered. "I've been nothing but honest since I was brought to this place and you keep trying to convince me none of it was real. I was a Toa's Apprentice! I could command ice to form with a snap of my fingers and I fought with a sixty-foot giant that was evil incarnate! None of it is made up and none of it symbolism for any human kidnappers. It's all true!"

"Calm down, Sharon. You're getting excited."

"Cheryl!" I barked, leaping from my seat. "How can I even hope to relate to an allegedly licensed psychiatrist if you can't even remember my name?!"

Silence permeated the office, punctuated by my harsh breathing. I had been holding my frustrations in for a while and it felt good to finally release them. Sitting back slowly in the chair, I watched the counselor closely. Hopefully now I would be taken more seriously.

"I think we're done for today." He stole a glance at the square clock upon the wall. "A little sooner than scheduled, but it can't be helped. We'll be sure to make up for lost time next session."

I closed the door before he could even finish, running a hand through my salt and pepper hair. I didn't understand why I needless endured the same rounds of questions when it all ended alike: me sticking to my story and him not believing me. In fact, none of the counselors I have encountered the past three years believed me. What made them think this one would be any different?

Shaking my head, I turned away from the office and strolled down the hall, taking occasional glances outside the rain-washed windows, thinking back to all that had happened these past three years and how they landed me here.

When Kopaka pushed me through the portal, I was on my street, right outside my house where I had disappeared. I tried desperately to reopen a portal, slamming my hands over and over into the ground in the hopes of manifesting some kind of ice mirror or anything that would somehow link me back to Mata Nui, but to no avail. Neighbors rushed out of their homes, alerting my parents and trying to console me from my madness. I had never been crushed by so many hugs before in my life, but I neglected the affection in favor of my quest. I was relentless, spouting my journey in as few words as I could, but my haste was mistaken for hysteria and right away action was taken.

Convinced I had been abducted, I was driven to the police station where I gave my testimony and questioned, pressed for information that simply didn't exist. They asked me which one of the well-known gangs was it? Was someone hired to hold me for ransom, or had a grudge against my parents. No matter how much I claimed otherwise, it was overlooked and key pieces of my story were taken out of context. Words such as "Toa" and "Makuta", "Matoran" and "Apprentice" were attributed to some new dialect of street slang utilized by my very human kidnappers. It wasn't until someone researched the terms and brought up the toy line from Lego that my story was either an elaborate hoax or compensation for dealing with the trauma.

That was when the throng of counselors came marching in. They started out fairly innocent: trying to be my friend and gently prod the information out of me. For most of the time I told my story once and then clammed up when they refused to accept it. They used all kinds of methods to milk it out of me: promises of rewards and peace of mind. If they were really feeling generous, they bribed me with cookies or models of the characters I spoke of, but I cast all enticements aside like an annoying strand of hair lingering in my face. It didn't matter how many times they tried to alter the facts or guide me in different directions towards "the truth", there was no deterring me from what happened. And of course that was what landed me deeper and deeper into hot water. The counselors became more forceful, my parents became more insistent, and the police all but deemed my case as a hoax. Nonetheless, my parents and the counselors refused to yield. They knew I was gone for an obscene amount of time without any trace and everything I was saying were jewels in a psychiatrist's goldmine. And so it went for three long years, progressively getting worse and worse until it all came to a head five months ago.

After the opinions of so many professionals and with some unanimous decisions on my parents' part, they decided I would have a better chance of returning to normal teenage behavior under close supervision and perhaps among others how share my way of thinking. That's how I ended up at Lakecrest, a place where children like me were sent to talk out their problems and "leave childish dreams behind". Of course, I have yet to meet one who has yet to relinquish their memories, but the staff keeps trying and the tenants keep repeating the same tales they always have.

Needless to say, of all the stories, mine has become the most popular, especially amongst the little ones. It was everything they had ever dreamed of: daring adventure alongside the ever-popular made-up heroes. Of course if they had been there, the experience would have them thinking otherwise . . . and I wondered how many young ones just like them were taken as Apprentices . . . and never came back. In the files I discovered in Makuta's private stateroom, I recalled catching glimpses of rather young faces, but I couldn't wrap my mind around a seven or eight-year-old undergoing the same events that brought me, a then twelve-year-old, to my knees. It made my stomach twist simply thinking about it, but I knew at one point or another it happened to someone that young.

I decided not to linger on the topic any longer. I had already done enough thinking on the "what ifs", far more than I should have. It was the past and I resigned to my fate of never returning, but I often dreamed of going back – in fact, I craved it. I never knew what happened after Sebastian attacked: Did Kopaka make it out alright? What happened to Matt, and the other Toa? I longed to know the answers and so much more, but the more I thought on them, the more anxious I became. I never liked making up my own truth; too many things could be doubted, but it was my only comfort besides not knowing, no matter how small of a comfort it was.

The hallway dumped into a wide circular room, branched on all sides by four smaller hallways: three led deeper into the building, one to outside. Choosing the middle, I made straight for the rooms. There was a total of twelve in all, each housing a set of bunk beds as well a table, chair and dresser. What was interesting was that each room had its very own chessboard, even though most everyone didn't know how to play or were too dulled by it to care. My room was the third on the left, facing east and towards the morning sun. I shared it with a girl nearly my age from the town next over. She, like me, had dreams of being in another world as well, but where mine was filled with sentient mechanical beings, hers was bursting with talking rabbits, malicious queens, and the personification of nearly every stationary object known to man. And they thought I was nuts.

Opening up the door, I found my roommate gone. I hadn't expected her to be there anyways. She was always outside playing in the garden amongst the roses, picking at their petals and sometimes even carrying on full conversations. Sometimes she would be out there from dawn until dusk, never coming in until the staff coaxed her back in with promises of tea and cake and perhaps a game of cards. I didn't mind if she stayed out all day, in fact I rather enjoyed it. The silence always helped.

I parked myself in front of the window, simply staring out at my view of the grounds. It was nothing special, just a green lawn with an oak tree off to the left and a little beyond that a wrought-iron fence topped with pointed spires. The fence was taller from what it used to be. We were all playing in the yard and someone kicked a ball over the fence. He tried to go get it and nearly succeeded in jumping over the fence when staff caught him and security was called. We never got the ball back and instead they put in this larger fence. No one dared try to climb it.

Tiny drops of water splashed against the windowpane, soon followed by a gradual downpour that turned all to gray. As I watched the storm, I couldn't help but allow my thoughts to wander back to the therapy session. The counselor's words were the same slogan I had heard over the past three years and the more they were said, the more I refuted it. I knew what had happened to me and everything the counselor and others like him were trying to put thoughts into my head . . . but the more they said it wasn't real . . . the more I wondered . . .

"Was I really . . . just imagining it?"

I looked down at my hands, narrowing my eyes. Many times before I had tried to use my ice powers and for a little while it worked. I was able to flash freeze even the tiniest droplet . . . but maybe around a year ago my powers began to fail me. I figured I had simply worn out my energies and they would replenish themselves after a few days . . . but that experiment just now only proved my worst fears.

The tapping of the rain upon the window increased and with it my temper. All this water about, just out of reach, taunting me. I placed my hands upon the window, staring intently at the transparent streaks dripping down the shatterproof glass. If I was at my full strength, I could easily freeze every last drop . . .

"Cheryl."

I gasped and leaped around, flinging my arm up in a defensive position, but no spray of ice crystals flew from my palm. The staff attendant tossed me a bewildered look and I flushed, slowly lowering my arm.

"Time for dinner," he said before moving out of the room and onto the next one.

Sighing deeply, I buried my face in my hands. I had allowed my thoughts to claim me. People here already thought I had a few screws loose, and I didn't need to worsen that opinion.

Pinching the space between my eyes, I massaged my eyes with the pads of my thumbs before lowering my hands and walking out of the room. Pouring through the hallway were others, all focused on the promise of food. It really was all we had to look forward to. Deterring my eyes from their haunted ones, I merged into the shuffling throng and soon became no more than one of many.

* * *

Dinner wasn't anything special. It was Wednesday and that meant over cooked spaghetti and barely defrosted meatballs smothered in tasteless tomato sauce. Spaghetti and meatballs used to be one of my favorite meals when I was younger; I could make a large pot of eat and simply gorge on it without end, but this cheap imitation had turned me away from it. All of the meals here had and I didn't enjoy them anymore than one would enjoy a black licorice stick. Still, they supplied with enough energy for the day and it did me no good not to eat anyway, so I ate it.

Filing through a doorway down the hall, I stood in line along with everyone else. It was like a kitchen with a long, titanium bar separating the actual stoves from everyone else. Along the bar were titanium containers filled with noodles, meatballs and sauce, each kept hot via vats of bubbling water beneath them. There was about two of each of these containers, with the kitchen staff replacing each whenever they ran out. At the end of the bar was a basketful of breadsticks and a cooler container filled with the dessert: brownies that tasted no more delicious than a slab of thick, soggy cardboard smothered in sugar and chocolate chip knockoffs.

Picking up a plate, I handed one to the person behind me just because I felt like it. I hardly noticed his nod of thanks and kept my eyes trained upon the floor. It was always at mealtime, I noticed, I became the most withdrawn. I wasn't like everyone else here, I was a normal teenager with an incredible story that simply seemed to absurd to be real, but sometimes the truth is absurd and doesn't make sense. I had nothing in common with most everyone here. As usual, I dished myself a semi-decent portion of spaghetti and meatballs, grabbed a breadstick and left the dessert for everyone else. Like windup toys, I followed the others out of the kitchen as we all piled into an adjoining dining room.

The dining room was more akin to a mess hall, or a school lunchroom. Eight long tables, each with an attached bench on either side, took up the majority of the room's space, with maybe a few feet of slack between the tables and the walls. I always thought it was too much space for a collective group of forty kids, but the extra distance meant we all could spread out.

And just a like a school lunchroom, there were designated tables. The little ones, those who could have passed for second and third graders in an elementary school, always took the tables to the left, though they mostly occupied one table and sacrificed the other to the older kids, mainly the nine to eleven year olds. The middle was where the junior high-aged kids reigned, the kids just blooming into their teen years but hadn't lost the youthfulness of their childish counterparts. Some of them hadn't even changed their voices. Then the two tables to the right were left to everyone else, the older teens from aged fourteen to seventeen. There was no one that exceeded this age group; this facility was for minors only – and we kind of liked it that way. In this place, the undeclared rules of Kid Law could still be enforced and the pecking order of age could remain intact: the bigger kids ruled the roost and the young ones followed suit, simple as that.

Taking my place at the proper table, I took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly and waited for the others to join me at the table. It was one of the rules not to eat until the oldest kids sat down, more of a respect thing than anything else. Even the younger kids obliged to the rule. The seats around me filled themselves and soon enough the only one missing was the oldest of us. He liked to be the last one seated, as a sort of test to see who gave into their stomachs. No one did. And when the oldest sat down, the hall erupted into frenzy of clanking plates, twirling forks and noisy chomps.

I sucked up a spoonful of the tasteless spaghetti, swallowing only after a few chews. With this kind of meal, it was best to fill your stomach fast and not let the taste linger on the tongue.

The oldest, Thomas by name, peered over the rim of his Styrofoam cup at me, setting it down before speaking. "Heard you went for another session. How was it?" He took a mouthful of spaghetti and chewed thoughtfully. I think Thomas was the only one who didn't mind the lack of taste.

I shrugged, tearing off the end piece of my breadstick. "Nothing to report. Same old runaround."

Thomas shook his head, slurping up a string of noodle hanging from his mouth. "Grown ups don't get it, y'know? We tell 'em once we tell 'em a thousand times. It's like they don't listen or somethin'."

A small smile tweaked the side of my lips. Among our group, everyone's story was accepted. It didn't matter how outlandish it seemed, it was just another colorful thread in the tapestry of Lakecrest.

Taking another drink, Thomas licked lingering sauce from his lips and the corners of his mouth. Even though the boy was nearly eighteen, he ate like a three-year-old. "Tell us a story."

I blinked. "What?"

"Tell us a story," Thomas reported casually. "One of yer adventures."

"But you've heard all of them already," I argued. I must have recounted every tale at least fifty times over.

Thomas shrugged. "Don't matter. I want to hear a story."

His demand sparked a rowdiness from the younger ones across the way, all of them echoing Thomas's wants. Of every group in the building, it was the little ones that crowed for my stories the most.

"Which story?" I asked with a sigh.

"How about the one where you and that other kid escaped from Tahu?" one asked.

"No! The one where Kopaka saves you from Makuta!" another piped.

"Or the one where you and Lewa fought that bug thing in the jungle!"

"See, I don't need to tell them. You already know them," I interjected.

"Why don't you tell them the truth?"

Collectively everyone looked down the table to the lonely boy sitting at the end. He was playing with the soggy strands of the spaghetti, eyes fixed upon them. His other arm was placed upon the table, posture hunched defensively over his meal. We wondered if he had even spoken at all, and the breath caught in my throat as he turned his hardened gaze upon me.

"Tell them the real story," Drake went on, voice monotonous and stern. "About all the monsters and what they do to people like us."

I narrowed my eyes. I had never been too sure of Drake. He came in a little after I did, rambling almost the exact same things I had been saying, but his tales were darker, full of madness and inhuman experiments that never before crossed my mind. He said he was an Apprentice as well, but when he failed to give me the name of his master or even what element he ruled, I determined he was just telling lies, trying to garnish the same unwanted attention I received. My suspicions were only made clear whenever he let his twin personalities take possession of him.

"The only monster I have seen is Makuta," I replied, combating his stare with my own. "He is the real monster." I flushed as Drake sneered.

"You think he is the only one?" Drake forsook his fork, tossing it away even as he shoved the half-eaten plate aside. "You haven't seen anything yet if you think Makuta is the worst of them all." His face darkened. "Karzahni would do anything to get a hold of someone like you. He did for me – and look where it got me!"

Drake yanked up his shirt, revealing multiple Xs cauterized into his chest. I visibly shuddered, drawing away from the crazed boy. Many of the little ones protested their disgust. Thomas stood up from his seat, wiping sauce on the back of his hand.

"Karzahni hates when Toa escape," Drake hissed. He lowered his shirt and lumbered towards me, brushing away the few teens that sat in his path. "He _will_ complete his tests!"

"Hey, cool it!" Thomas grasped Drake by his collar, shoving him back a step. Drake refused to cower in Thomas' shadow as the much larger boy loomed over him. "No one wants to hear yer crazy talk."

"_My_ crazy talk?" Drake repeated. "All of this babble about nonsense, about castles on the backs of turtles, rabbits in waistcoats – that is the crazy talk you mean! I know what I saw, and what I saw was true! And she knows it!" Drake aimed a finger at me. "Whether she wants to admit it or not."

"I said knock it off!" Thomas shoved Drake back hard and the smaller body stumbled, collapsing to the ground. There was a hushed silence in the room, no one speaking, eating, or even breathing. Thomas panted hard, hands curled into fists, tension settling into his broad shoulders, ready to spring.

Drake glowered up from his position, chest rising and falling harshly. He stayed there a moment, flicking his gaze from Thomas to finally me. " . . . Fine . . ." Using the table bench as support, Drake hauled himself to his feet. "This isn't over. Karzahni will find me . . . and he will find you."

Thomas cracked his knuckles.

A humorless smirk tweaked Drake's corner lip. His eyes flashed red and I sprang up to pursue him, but Drake shuffled away and out of the dining room.

My appetite deserted me after that. Standing by the window of my room, I watched the rain seep down once more, thinking heavily upon everything Drake had said. I hadn't encountered or heard of anyone named Karzahni, but he was a common topic with Drake. From what I gathered, Karzahni was a madman with only the intent to destroy and twist things far beyond what they should be, all for the sake of "improvement" . . . and he was far worse than Makuta. I bit the inside of my cheek, my brow tightening. I hated to admit it, but the thought of something worse than Makuta frightened me. I didn't want to think all of the evil and all of the pain that monster caused . . . was only a drop in the bucket compared to what else could be out there. I only hoped I wouldn't have to experience it.

Sighing, I leaned my forehead against the cool shatterproof glass of the window. My warmth breath clouded the specks of rain stuck to surface and I stared at each and every one. Ever so slowly I pressed the tips of my fingers against the pane of glass, concentrating on the coolness of the weather and the drops of moisture just an inch away, willing it to drop a few degrees then a few more and more until a thin layer of frost emerge at my fingertips, smearing the window in delicate array of feathery patterns. A smile spread my lips.

* * *

**Thank you for coming to the end of the chapter! Hopefully it met your expectations and then some, and if it didn't let me know. I'm flexible and always open for suggestions. I can't say for sure when the next chapter will be up, but with break coming soon, it'll probably be within the next week or so - no promises. **


End file.
